The Kidnappers

Tyrone paced back and forward in his faintly lit living room, the pressure within the air thick sufficient to cut. The expensive, mahogany coffee table was secured with maps, scratch pad, and folded papers with quickly written notes—remnants of an unhinged, restless three days. His mind dashed with conceivable outcomes, each one darker than the final. Three days had passed since his spouse had been captured, and each hour felt like a lifetime.

Matthew sat over from him on the couch, his eyes checking over a list of contacts on his phone. Matthew, the more explanatory of the two, was the one who kept Tyrone in check. But indeed Matthew was starting to feel the weight of the circumstance squeezing down on him.

"We're running out of time," Tyrone murmured, his voice rough from fatigue. "We got to do something, Matt. We can't just sit here waiting for a supernatural occurrence." Matthew looked up, his usually calm blue eyes clouded with concern. "I know, Ty. But we need to be savvy abou